Paint A Picture In Black and White
by Hyper Mellow
Summary: Pacey Witter had never been much on faith. High school is over and his friends are gone. This is Pacey's life, after the fact. What happened to him? This is my own take on his life after his Capeside High days.
1. So Here's The Story Of My Life

Pacey Witter had never been much on faith. With his family album reading like burnt scraps of paper, he'd accepted the fact that Capeside and his new and empty apartment with the exception of a him, a couch and his Shepard mutt mix, Cronin,  
that this was probably it. Since his friends where now on all other sides of the world and Pacey was left in the dust,  
he'd grown accustomed to drifting from his small town apartment selection quite easily. Pacey dropped his faded black LL Bean bag and walked in.

"Here we are buddy, Cro...c'mere you mutt!" Pacey smiled as Cronin jumped excitedly from the couch to Pacey's upper thighs.  
Within a few hours, he'd move in the last bit of his stuff, thanks to a courteous neighbor who heard him struggling with his lonesome mattress at the stairs. He threw a plastic grocery bag on the counter and took out it's contents, some ramen noodles, two small grilling steaks, a gallon of orange juice, dry dog food and some JuJubees. He threw the steaks into the semi frozen freezer and placed the OJ in the luke warm fridge, the rest he disposed of in the cabinet. He washed his hands and plopped to the left behind/almost new colored blue couch. He pulled the bag from the left side of the couch, wrestling for it playfully from Cronin's loosely tight grip.

"Gimme.." he said flashing his million dollar smile. Cronin surrendered the bag. Pacey picked through it and found what he was looking for. His red journal laced turned photo album. On the sides, band names and funny faces were scribbled, inside told a different story. The first page held photos of his family. The first one was a faded oldie but goodie of Doug holding Pacey up in the front yard, with Pacey wearing his Dad's police hat.

"Yeah this was never right, you always knew Doug was going to be the man of the law and I was going to be the one getting picked up for running out of the 7-11 with the Playboy stuffed under the belt of my jeans." Pacey said outloud. He did this a lot, talked out loud, to himself, sometimes to Cronin when he wasn't busy with his old beat up teal frisbee. The photo next to it was one of few family shots, with Pacey's sisters posing in the left hand corner, his Dad to the far right in policeman tough guy stance and his wife lovingly smiling next to him. Doug had on a leatherjacket and had himself bowed down in front, looking like John Travolta from Grease with the family dog blocking his tight jeans..and than there was Pacey, glancing over his Dad's shoulder, trying to wedge a smile in before the flash. Pacey traced the faces in the photo.

"Ah Pops..." he felt a little tingle of a tear in the left corner of his eye. 


	2. Nothing Seems To Bring Me Back To You

A year earlier

Pacey was living in another small apartment, where he had just installed a tiny compact answering machine to his one cord bounded phone. He checked the messages when he could, after he got off work at the bar he was working out below the bar, or at least later on the next afternoon, after the hangover wasn't so well..hung. He took advantage of his free access to the bottles and after work would sit around with a few of the clean up crew guys and his boss, who was also his landlord at the time, and throw back the shots, five by five. It was a long and overdue night on a Saturday in the fall, a few customer got a little rowdy and instead of last call ending at 2am, Pacey and his co workers where there cleaning up broken glass and a wooden table. It didn't help that they'd also been drinking close to closing time and had a little bit of a hard time coordinating the clean up effort after the fact. By the time the drunken brunette got back up to his apartment the clock sang 445am, he passed out...easily, with Cronin licking his hand at the side of his old couch and slept until around three the next afternoon.

THUD...THUD...THUD THUD...THUD THUD THUD!!!

"Jesus Christ.." Pacey snorted and wipped up off the couch, checking his watch he hadn't removed earlier that morning. It was exactly 3:17pm and his head was pounding...or was that the door?

THUD THUD THUD!! PACEY!!! Ok, it was the door.

"Coming..." he groaned. Pacey mustered all his strength to unhook the chain from the door and groaned at the sound it made when it creeked. There should his brother, stern and red faced.

"Pacey...." Doug said his voice whispered but hard.

"What's up Dougy? Come to sing me some show tunes before I head into work in another hour?" Pacey giggled. His brother did not flinch. He did not move from the doorway and he kept a cold stare on his brother.

"I have been trying to get in contact with you for over a day and a half...where the FUCK have you been?" Doug fummed.  
Pacey was surprised at his brother, he rarely actually used the f bomb.

"I work Doug, unlike you I don't just stroll the docks looking for skateboarders and little old ladies who can't seem to get that left hip to twist correctly and need help getting out of the car in front of the diner." Pacey fired back.  
"I didn't get in until 4:45 this morning for hell's sake...WHAT?" he rubbed his head. Doug reaffirmed his stance but glanced into the apartment over to where the machine laid quietly with quick red blinks coming from the top of it. Pacey noticed his brother staring in that general direction and turned, seeing the red lights he left his brother in the door way and went to the counter, pressing the oversized button.

"Hello, you have 2 unheard messages." the machine said followed by a squeaky beep.

"Pacey? Pacey its Doug...I tried the bar but no one could hear me over the music and hung up, Dad was just rushed to the hospitial, he collapsed in his office at work...Pacey...CALL ME AS SOON AS YOU GET THIS." another squeaky beep followed and this time it was a woman's voice.

"Pacey...honey...Pacey...baby...he's....aww dear lord...Pacey, your father is gone..." it was his Mother in utter sobs and inaudible dialouge until the machine ended the call. Pacey stared at the machine as if to turn back time and change the outcome of the messages. He gulped, twice. He put his hands inside the sides ridges of his boxers and than took them out. He scratched his throat, than he cleared it. He crushed an empty Coors can left alone on the counter. Than he flipped his attention back to the opened doorway.

"Doug...Dougy?" saying his brother name twice, the second time in a voice sounding more like a little boy who'd been lost at the mall and was looking for his big brother. He heard the entrance at the bottom of the building open as if someone was leaving. Pacey ran to the cocked opened window and saw his uniformed brother walking back to his patrol car. "DOUG!!"  
he screamed..."What the fuck!!???" he shrieked out, with a few nasty neighbors sneering under him a few floors down.

"It's in two days, think you can be availible for THAT?" Doug didn't shout but said it quickly and sharp enough that Pacey heard every word. All the younger brother could do is nod. Doug got in his patrol car and slowly pulled away from the curb.  
Pacey went back to the counter and picked up the phone.

"Boss.." he said, his voice cracking. "I can't make it in today or tomorrow...I have a funeral." he said clearing the built up mucus in his throat.

"Who died?" his boss replied easily. Pacey angeled himself toward a red journal sitting on his coffee table and came to a stand still.

"My Father." he replied feeling the hurt echo off his tongue. 


End file.
